and now the doctor asks if depression is a family

---

and I say my family is too black to bask in the moonlight how my skin rips thoughts from my pretty head and I say I want to peel my layers     lay them out for all to see how small I can become and I say too black I go to church and come back so clean so new some child no time for anything but a soft breeze and sun too black to look at my skin and see anything past the galaxies I hold inside me too black I hold the words under my tongue let them simmer there and I see nothing in stars but an absence of a black body that loves them enough to keep them covered and now I am bubbling over I stretch my hands toward the twilight and ask it to hold me I would gladly offer the bits of body I have left for a chance to be too black for this haze I say too black and the words come out snake-like and slithering over me. I’d like to stay here in this dark — this too black.